Today I'm just going to talk about my day. It wasn't a terribly good day or a terribly horrible day, but it certainly had its ups and downs. Yesterday I left my site to go to Santa Cruz, en route to Cochabamba for the weekend for a workshop on teaching english. I had my list of things to get done in the city, mostly things that had been on my list of things to do in the city for the past 3 or 4 months, but I was determined to get them done today. It did not bode well that the bus on the way into Montero puttered out about an hour before we got there...after waiting about a half an hour and watching the driver and his sidekick loosen and tighten bolts on the engine, I decided I didn't feel like waiting around for them to teach themselves how to fix it through trial and error, and luckily just then a few taxis (who had heard a bus had broken down) showed up and whisked us off to Montero in a jiffy. Once I got through Montero and into Santa Cruz, I headed for the Peace Corps office, hoping to find it deserted at 9am and allowing me to get all the things accomplished I wanted. This of course, was not the case. The office was in fact, bustling with activity. This was because the office was in fact moving again. I say again because it had only been in its current location for about 3 months. They had disconnected the computers, so I couldn't do some of the things I needed to, but the upswing was that I got some mail & packages, which always makes me happy.
I met up with my pal Rudy later in the day (after not really getting anything accomplished) and we ran a few errands, ate some yummy ice cream and met up with a couple other folks for dinner at a german bistro. I had some of this squash soup that was just about the best thing I've eaten since I've been in Bolivia. My bus was leaving so I had to head out before the rest of the food got there, but the yummy soup in my tummy made me happy enough. At the bus station, I checked my backpack at the counter and found my way to seat 49 on the bus. I had bought a "buscama" ticket which means "bed bus" so the seat I had reclined back pretty far and even had a little platform to pull down to put your legs on. So, the 10 hour bus ride was usually at least tolerable since it wasn't too much of a challenge to get some rest. I was also happy to learn that the in-flight movie for this busride would be "The Fugitive" with Harrison Ford! No matter that it was in Spanish, I pretty have the movie memorized so I just said all the dialouge in my head.
Then things began to go downhill. My left big toe had been sore for a couple of days and the pain decided to reach its pinnacle on this bus ride. I pulled up my foot to check it out and saw that it was kind of swollen and turning sort of a purplish color...caused from the beginnings of an ingrown toenail, I believe. I had gone to a podiatrist sometime during high school when I was having a similar problem and after digging my toenail out of my toe and looking at some x-rays she determined that I had "abnormally wide" toenails and that the real way to fix it was to have surgery on both my big toes, putting me in crutches for a few months, and that I would have to work really hard to keep it clean to prevent infection. Not to mention I wouldn't be able to go swimming for some reason. I declined the surgery and decided to just go living the rough life of a person with abnormally wide toenails. It was hard, but I managed.
Thinking back to that day, the prospect of being on crutches with a high risk of infection were two things that did not bode well for Bolivia. The phrase "high risk of infection" in Bolivia is about as everyday as the phrase "breathe." Regardless, the pain was keeping me from sleeping, so I did something rash...I squeezed it. White goo began oozing out from the sideof my toenail, but the pressure was relieved and I could get some sleep. I resolved to do more thorough surgery once I got to Cochabamba in the morning. I actually kind of fantasized about it.
Around 4am or so, I woke up to a stopped bus. Usually this wouldn't be a big deal...busses tend to stop for many reasons...random roadside stands along the road where people could by snacks and use the bathroom, perhaps a flat tire, or maybe a cow in the road. But, once I realized the engine was off, I knew something was amiss. I gazed out the window and could barely make out in the moonlight a huge line of busses and trucks in front of us, all at a dead stop. There must have been some sort of wash out, causing all traffic on this "new road" to be brought to a halt. The next 8 hours or so were highlighted by the engine starting up, us moving about 50 yards, then the engine turning off again. Not wanting to perpetuate the crapiness of the situation, I refused to check the clock on my cell phone until I was sure we were moving again without stopping. It was a challenge, but I pulled it off. Around 8am I hopped off the bus and did a little walk around of the area, which was pretty nice...there was a river rushing by and New Zealand like mountains around, covered with vegetation and fog. Having just re-read "The Hobbit" and "The Fellowship of the Ring" I couldn't help to imagine we were in the middle of the Misty Mountains. Alas, there were no hobbits, elves or Uruk-Hai to be found, and no eagles to come along and take me on my way.
Luckily, in the packages I'd received earlier that day, I had gotten all I needed to survived. I had about 3/4 of a Nalgene bottle filled with water (thanks Jammers) for hydration and a couple of Clif Bars (thanks Kreiner) for sustenance. I had a couple of Rolling Stone magazines (thanks Mom and Dad) as well as an delightfully entertaining book called "The Sex Lives of Cannibals" by J. Maarten Troost (thanks Chelsea). The book was about a guy who went with his girlfriend to live on an equatorial pacific island, thousands of miles from anything. It's a hilarious account of his experiences with locals, dogs, lack of good food and just off the wall cultural differences. Needless to say, I was laughing out loud for a good portion of it, able to relate to a lot of what this guy was going through. I reccommend it to anyone who has spent a good amount of time in a developing country and got a little frustrated at time.
Well, eventually, the water dried up, the two Clif Bars I had on me got eaten, and a splitting headache began to set in. We had moved about a kilometer since we stopped and I was beginning to wonder if I should just start walking. Finally, the engine rumbled to life and stayed there, and we were on our way. I stole a glance at my phone...noon. We had been sitting for about 8 hours. Yuck. I never found out what the hold up was, but I imagine the road washed out, allowing for only one lane of traffic to pass, and we had been on the bad end for 8 hours. This perplexed me, however, since I saw no traffic pass us coming from the other direction during our non-moving hours. My headache just got worse, and I kicked myself leaving my excedrin in my pack that was stowed under the bus. This kicking of myself just aggravated my painful toe even more.
About 3 1/2 hours later, we made it to Coch. At the closest sign of something I recognized I de-bussed and started walking. Food was the only thing on my mind and I eventually found a place I recognized and made my way to a pizza joint, simply hoping it would be open. The majority of restaurants in Bolivia are only open during peak eating hours, which is kind of a pain. But the doors were open and in I walked. Every table was empty and there was no one at the counter...although I heard dishes clanging in the background. I yelled a "good afternoon" and a few "hellos" and finally a women came out, who enthusiastically assured me they were open. I sat down and ordered a ham, pineapple and mushroom pizza (no Adriatico's, but it did the trick) and dug my excedrin out of my pack and took two of them with the deliciously cold bottle of water I'd ordered. Perceiving that I was a gringo weary from travel, they turned on some American music for their only customer...the "clasicos" they call it. This is a tape of songs that is sold all over Bolivia that starts out with "Hotel California" and includes mega hits such as "Total Eclipse of the Heart", "Winds of Change" by the Scorpions, and my personal favorite "Heaven" by Bryan Adams, which brought back memories of Kirk Strohman lip synching into the pancake flipper while making breakfast at 288 E. 15th. As the excedrin began to kick in, the pizza showed up, the music soothed me, my mood began to greatly improve. I went to the bathroom to enjoy the nice clean atmostphere and saw that I had about 67 green pieces of oregano caught in my teeth, a skill I inherited from my mom. When I paid, I asked the nice lady if they had any toothpicks and flashed her a smile. She must have caught site of the jungle growing in my teeth because she brought me not one but FOUR toothpicks.
I headed out with a full tummy to find a place to stay that night. I had heard from a few volunteers that the nice hostal where we usually stay was full for the weekend, so I hailed down a cab to take me to a different one. I asked him to take me to "avenida 25 de mayo" and he looked at me like I had asked him to take me into downtown Bahgdad and drove off. I found this funny, since taxi drivers are usually all kinds of excited to overcharge gringos. The nice hostal wasn't that far of a walk, so I decided to enjoy the nice non-bus environment and hoof it. I got there and asked if there was any space and she told me "of course" and that is how I found myself in this room, with an internet connection, typing on my own computer, looking forward to a nice soft bed and a hot shower. This day just keeps getting better.
I got out my new, nice and sharp leatherman tool (thanks Kirk) and disinfected it with my zippo lighter (thanks mom and dad). I saw with my foot on my knee, successfully cutting off the majority of the circulation to my foot, hopefully dulling the pain. I began to dig and peel and pop on my toe...got rid of some dead skin and a lot more of the white goo, but after about 5 minutes it just got too painful, so I cleaned it out and determined that it was good eough.
Tonight I plan on laying low, finishing up my book and sleeping like a rock on the nice soft bed with a cool breeze blowing through the window. Tomorrow after breakfast I'm planning to go out to visit my old host family, which should be a fun time. I know this wasn't a very adventure like story, but I hope you were at least entertained. All for now, be well.
Ben
26 January 2007
Low-Patience Day (2007.01.16)
So I’m having what I call a “low-patience day.” A low-patience day occurs when one’s patience to tolerate the normal Bolivian lifestyle is low and the daily stuff starts getting to you. Anymore, the dog barking doesn’t bother me. In fact, I’ve made my peace with the old hound, after a slew of other dogs started barking their heads off at me one time and he came and acted as my protector. I don’t think they would have bitten me, and the six of them could have ripped ‘ol Ocampo to shreads, but nonetheless he kept barking and kept them away like he didn’t care. But today I’m back to wanting to shoot the dog. He really does start barking his head off at nothing for no reason…and since he’s old he can hardly bark so it just sounds like he’s “hackin’ on a bone.” It’s probably because we feed him from the table. In fact, that’s the only place he (or any other Bolivian dog for that matter) gets any food, aside from rootin’ through the trash. Uncle Mitch’s rule of not giving dogs any human food is directly contradicted on an hourly basis here in an hourly basis. As a matter of fact, it’s going to be tricky for me to NOT look for dogs to give my chicken bones to when I get home.
So my Spanish has come a long way since I got here almost 9 months ago, but I still am having problems making one tiny little sound. But to be fair, I don’t think it’s my fault. I was always taught that there was no difference between the “LL” and “y” in Spanish, but apparently here in the Santa Cruz department, there is. An EXCEEDINGLY subtle difference. So I pronounce my double L’s like y’s and my host family just finds it hilarious and never hesitates to point it out. “No es cuchiYo, es cuchiLLo!” they say to me while laughing. I can hear almost no difference in what they’re saying, but they make me feel pretty stupid for not being able to do it. Then they’re like “how about llave? Or gallena? Say gallena BenjamÃn!” and let out an uncontrollable roar of laughter when I mispronounce it. Most days, it’s funny, and I laugh and it’s no big deal. But today is a low patience day. So when the daily onslaught of “BenjamÃn can’t talk” began, instead of laughing it off, I totally went off on them in English and then asked them in Spanish how their English was and gave them crap for not even being able to pronounce the one or two sentences they know in English…”gook marnink” or “seet don plees.” I think they could tell I was mad, which I think just made them laugh a little more, but they did stop after that.
There are a lot of things about Bolivia that just don’t make sense to Americans in general. And specifically, things about my site that just drive me crazy. And while I’m usually ok with not understanding these things and just say “well, that’s just the way it is, you’re not going to change it, so just accept it,” today is a low-patience day. Which is why the exceedingly extraneously loud bus horn every hour outside my house made me want to throw rocks at the bus today. Which is why someone showed up a couple hours late this morning without apologizing and I almost wrung their neck. Which is why instead of lying to the kids at my house about not having candy to give them I just yelled at them and told them it’s going to rot their teeth and if they ask me again I’m really going to get pissed. These are the days I miss Skyline and voicemails and stickshifts and paved roads the most. Most days I appreciate and respect the cultural differences and even enjoy them sometimes (I was already a non-punctual person before I got here, and I’ve gained an affinity for bold faced lying). But, every once in a while when there’s too much of the flavorless food and dirty houses and dusty roads, you hit rock bottom and have yourself a low-patience day.
No less than a week ago I was contemplating extending my service for an entire year perhaps…which would mean a lot more low-patience days. It’s funny how quick I can go from wanting to stay for another year to wanting to leave a year and a half early. But the good part about low-patience days is that they are just that. Low-patience DAYS. Tomorrow I will feel fine. I already feel better after watching some Bugs Bunny cartoons I got in a Christmas package (thanks mom & dad) and after a nice night’s rest listening to some music, all will be well. I hope it’s always that easy to get over a rough day.
So my Spanish has come a long way since I got here almost 9 months ago, but I still am having problems making one tiny little sound. But to be fair, I don’t think it’s my fault. I was always taught that there was no difference between the “LL” and “y” in Spanish, but apparently here in the Santa Cruz department, there is. An EXCEEDINGLY subtle difference. So I pronounce my double L’s like y’s and my host family just finds it hilarious and never hesitates to point it out. “No es cuchiYo, es cuchiLLo!” they say to me while laughing. I can hear almost no difference in what they’re saying, but they make me feel pretty stupid for not being able to do it. Then they’re like “how about llave? Or gallena? Say gallena BenjamÃn!” and let out an uncontrollable roar of laughter when I mispronounce it. Most days, it’s funny, and I laugh and it’s no big deal. But today is a low patience day. So when the daily onslaught of “BenjamÃn can’t talk” began, instead of laughing it off, I totally went off on them in English and then asked them in Spanish how their English was and gave them crap for not even being able to pronounce the one or two sentences they know in English…”gook marnink” or “seet don plees.” I think they could tell I was mad, which I think just made them laugh a little more, but they did stop after that.
There are a lot of things about Bolivia that just don’t make sense to Americans in general. And specifically, things about my site that just drive me crazy. And while I’m usually ok with not understanding these things and just say “well, that’s just the way it is, you’re not going to change it, so just accept it,” today is a low-patience day. Which is why the exceedingly extraneously loud bus horn every hour outside my house made me want to throw rocks at the bus today. Which is why someone showed up a couple hours late this morning without apologizing and I almost wrung their neck. Which is why instead of lying to the kids at my house about not having candy to give them I just yelled at them and told them it’s going to rot their teeth and if they ask me again I’m really going to get pissed. These are the days I miss Skyline and voicemails and stickshifts and paved roads the most. Most days I appreciate and respect the cultural differences and even enjoy them sometimes (I was already a non-punctual person before I got here, and I’ve gained an affinity for bold faced lying). But, every once in a while when there’s too much of the flavorless food and dirty houses and dusty roads, you hit rock bottom and have yourself a low-patience day.
No less than a week ago I was contemplating extending my service for an entire year perhaps…which would mean a lot more low-patience days. It’s funny how quick I can go from wanting to stay for another year to wanting to leave a year and a half early. But the good part about low-patience days is that they are just that. Low-patience DAYS. Tomorrow I will feel fine. I already feel better after watching some Bugs Bunny cartoons I got in a Christmas package (thanks mom & dad) and after a nice night’s rest listening to some music, all will be well. I hope it’s always that easy to get over a rough day.
Bolivian Birthday (2007.01.06)
I turned 25 on Thursday. Twenty Five. Now, some of you (little VA cousins, mostly) are thinking man, that’s old. But, the majority of you are thinking “man, that’s young.” As for me, I don’t consider myself old or young. I don’t feel old, although I’m not positive I know what it feels like. And I don’t think not feeling old constitutes me feeling young, either. I would say that like Baby Bear’s porridge, I feel just right.
It was quite a good birthday if I do say so myself. Wednesday I went into the city to pick up some packages my friends had told me arrived for me and man were they right. There were no less than 6 packages awaiting the birthday boy. Granted, many were Christmas packages, but who really cares what the presents are for when you’re getting presents? I got a bunch of stuff I requested from my parents, plus a few bonuses, including 2 DVD’s of Bugs Bunny cartoons and a bunch of xmas cards from different family members. There were a whole slew of T-shirts from various sources, including a couple paying homage to two of my favorite Ohio State institutions, Buckeye Donuts and Catfish Biff’s, which I will wear with much pride. My friend Kirk got married in October and his mom put together a little wedding package for me, including all the table favors and invitations and even a few decorations. It was like Kirk’s wedding in a box. Definitely the highlight of that package was my groomsman’s gift, for which I was absent to receive. Ol’ Kirky really outdid himself and got all the groomsmen sweet Leatherman tools! I was stinking pumped to get that, since mine got stolen a few months back. From now on I’m wearing it with a string attached to my pants. And I don’t even have to worry about (insert grandpa ranz voice here) PUTTING MY NAME ON IT since Kirk took the liberty of having it engraved with my name! Pretty sweet. I got a good selection of new music and good books from the likes of Ben & Mia Coleman and the West Coast Ranz’s, Mike & Linda, not to mention a couple of birthday cds from my Peace Corps friend Katie here in Bolivia. New music is awesome. A sweet package from the greatest tag team since the Bushwhackers, Amy & Tahira, topped it all off. It took me about an hour and a half to dig through all of the fun presents, it really felt like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one. This also just caused more grumbling from my Peace Corps cronies who continue to receive not nearly as many packages as I do. I really do feel loved and want to say thanks to everyone who takes the time to send things, be it packages, cds, phone calls or emails, or even just reads this blog. All are equally appreciated and really give me that warm fuzzy feeling inside.
Some friends took me out that night and bought me a few rounds and we had a jolly old time blowing the froth off of a few and shooting the bull. Nice and tranquilo evening. The next day I bought a few things I needed in the city (including a new bag to put all my new toys in, since they didn’t all fit in the one I had) and headed back to my site, where I treated myself to some Hardeman fried chicken (75 cents) and was joined by friend Ana Maria, who in fact remembered it was my birthday! She had told me she was going to make me a cake and I asked her if the deal was still on, and she assured me it was. Sure enough, the next night she came a knockin’ on the door to tell me the cake was ready, so I hopped in the shower and headed over to her house to share the cake with her and her sisters. So for whatever reason I didn’t realize the Bolivian tradition is to smash the cake in the birthday person’s face. Below is my friend Maritza grinning after surprising me with the cake smash.
Of course she got a huge kick out of this, and I did too. “Didn’t you know that’s what we do in Bolivia?” she asked. “uh, no,” I replied. Please note the sweet Catfish Biff’s shirt I’m wearing.
Here is a photo of the whole cake eating crew. In the middle is Ana Maria (the cake maker) and her daughter, Sofia. To her right is Maritza and to her left is their neice Joanna. That’s me on the right, the guy without the beard. I cut off the goatee that day and started a fresh beard. Stay tuned for a nice thick beard when I travel home in May! While we were eating, my friends Ronald and Remo came walking by and we invited them up for some cake as well. The cake was so good. Most Bolivian cakes are hardly consumable, but Ana Maria has got it down…chocolate and coconut with white frosting…oh man to die for I say.
After we polished off most of the cake, I went with Ronald and Remo to eat some more famous Hardeman chicken and played a bunch of awesomely bad 80s music (kirk, you would have loved it) on the jukebox and made everyone roll their eyes. I didn’t care, it was my birthday. Here is a shot of the three of us on our way out.
These guys are two of my good friends, I will be sad to see them head back to college in a couple of weeks, but they’ll come visit on the weekends at least.
So it was a very successful birthday, and I’m glad I got to spend it in my site. Thanks again for all the packages, emails and phone calls. You guys rock.
It was quite a good birthday if I do say so myself. Wednesday I went into the city to pick up some packages my friends had told me arrived for me and man were they right. There were no less than 6 packages awaiting the birthday boy. Granted, many were Christmas packages, but who really cares what the presents are for when you’re getting presents? I got a bunch of stuff I requested from my parents, plus a few bonuses, including 2 DVD’s of Bugs Bunny cartoons and a bunch of xmas cards from different family members. There were a whole slew of T-shirts from various sources, including a couple paying homage to two of my favorite Ohio State institutions, Buckeye Donuts and Catfish Biff’s, which I will wear with much pride. My friend Kirk got married in October and his mom put together a little wedding package for me, including all the table favors and invitations and even a few decorations. It was like Kirk’s wedding in a box. Definitely the highlight of that package was my groomsman’s gift, for which I was absent to receive. Ol’ Kirky really outdid himself and got all the groomsmen sweet Leatherman tools! I was stinking pumped to get that, since mine got stolen a few months back. From now on I’m wearing it with a string attached to my pants. And I don’t even have to worry about (insert grandpa ranz voice here) PUTTING MY NAME ON IT since Kirk took the liberty of having it engraved with my name! Pretty sweet. I got a good selection of new music and good books from the likes of Ben & Mia Coleman and the West Coast Ranz’s, Mike & Linda, not to mention a couple of birthday cds from my Peace Corps friend Katie here in Bolivia. New music is awesome. A sweet package from the greatest tag team since the Bushwhackers, Amy & Tahira, topped it all off. It took me about an hour and a half to dig through all of the fun presents, it really felt like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one. This also just caused more grumbling from my Peace Corps cronies who continue to receive not nearly as many packages as I do. I really do feel loved and want to say thanks to everyone who takes the time to send things, be it packages, cds, phone calls or emails, or even just reads this blog. All are equally appreciated and really give me that warm fuzzy feeling inside.
Some friends took me out that night and bought me a few rounds and we had a jolly old time blowing the froth off of a few and shooting the bull. Nice and tranquilo evening. The next day I bought a few things I needed in the city (including a new bag to put all my new toys in, since they didn’t all fit in the one I had) and headed back to my site, where I treated myself to some Hardeman fried chicken (75 cents) and was joined by friend Ana Maria, who in fact remembered it was my birthday! She had told me she was going to make me a cake and I asked her if the deal was still on, and she assured me it was. Sure enough, the next night she came a knockin’ on the door to tell me the cake was ready, so I hopped in the shower and headed over to her house to share the cake with her and her sisters. So for whatever reason I didn’t realize the Bolivian tradition is to smash the cake in the birthday person’s face. Below is my friend Maritza grinning after surprising me with the cake smash.
Of course she got a huge kick out of this, and I did too. “Didn’t you know that’s what we do in Bolivia?” she asked. “uh, no,” I replied. Please note the sweet Catfish Biff’s shirt I’m wearing.
Here is a photo of the whole cake eating crew. In the middle is Ana Maria (the cake maker) and her daughter, Sofia. To her right is Maritza and to her left is their neice Joanna. That’s me on the right, the guy without the beard. I cut off the goatee that day and started a fresh beard. Stay tuned for a nice thick beard when I travel home in May! While we were eating, my friends Ronald and Remo came walking by and we invited them up for some cake as well. The cake was so good. Most Bolivian cakes are hardly consumable, but Ana Maria has got it down…chocolate and coconut with white frosting…oh man to die for I say.
After we polished off most of the cake, I went with Ronald and Remo to eat some more famous Hardeman chicken and played a bunch of awesomely bad 80s music (kirk, you would have loved it) on the jukebox and made everyone roll their eyes. I didn’t care, it was my birthday. Here is a shot of the three of us on our way out.
These guys are two of my good friends, I will be sad to see them head back to college in a couple of weeks, but they’ll come visit on the weekends at least.
So it was a very successful birthday, and I’m glad I got to spend it in my site. Thanks again for all the packages, emails and phone calls. You guys rock.
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